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New  York  Nocturnes 

And  Other  Poems 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR. 


VERSE: 

Orion    and   Other    Poems.     {Out  of  Print.) 

Lippincott. 
In  Divers  Tones.    D.  Lothrop  Co. 
Songs   of   the    Common    Day.      Longmans, 

Green  &•  Co. 
The  Book  of  the  Native.     Lamson,    Wolffe 

&-  Co. 

PROSE : 
The  Canadians  of  Old.     From  the  French  of 

de  Gasp6.     D.  Appleton  &>  Co. 
Around  the  Camp  Fire.    T.  Y.  Crowell &>  Co. 
Earth's  Enigmas.     Lamson,  Wolffe  &•  Co. 
A  History  of  Canada.     Lamson,  Wolffe  &>  Co. 
The  Forge  in  the  Forest.     Lamson,  Wolffe 

&>  Co. 
A  Sister  to  Evangeline.    A  Romance  of  Old 

Acadia.     (/«  Press.)     Lamson,  Wolffe  &■  Co. 


New  York   Nocturnes 

And  Other  Poems 

By 

Charles  G.   D.   Roberts 


VTCRESCIT 


Lamson,  WolfFe  and  Company 

Boston,  New  York  and  London 

MDCCCXCVIII 


J     i  >  i  ^  i  > 


Copyright,  1898, 
By  Lamson,  Wolffe  and  Company. 


^11  rights  reserved. 


'It    <• 


LI        Itl      IILCIL 


THE  IDEAL  ^Vt\'2. 

To  Her,  when  life  was  little  worth,  l^^y^'2-f] 

When  hope,  a  tide  run  low, 
Between  dim  shores  of  emptiness 
Almost  forgot  to  flow,  — 

Faint  with  the  city's  fume  and  stress 

I  came  at  night  to  Her. 
Her  cool  white  fingers  on  my  face  — 

How  wonderful  they  were  ! 

More  dear  they  were  to  fevered  lids 

Than  lilies  cooled  in  dew. 
They  touched  my  lips  with  tenderness. 

Till  life  was  born  anew. 

The  city's  clamour  died  in  calm  ; 

And  once  again  I  heard 
The  moon-white  woodland  stillnesses 

Enchanted  by  a  bird  ; 

The  wash  of  far,  remembered  waves  ; 

The  sigh  of  lapsing  streams  ; 
And  one  old  garden's  lilac  leaves 

Conferring  in  their  dreams. 

A  breath  from  childhood  daisy  fields 

Came  back  to  me  again. 
Here  in  the  city's  weary  miles 

Of  city-wearied  men. 


LIBRARY 


CONTENTS 

NEW  YORK  NOCTURNES 

PAGE 

The  Ideal 5 

In  the  Crowd 9 

Night  in  a  Down-town  Street lO 

At  the  Railway  Station 13 

Nocturnes  of  the  Honeysuckle,  I 16 

Nocturnes  of  the  Honeysuckle,  II 17 

My  Garden         .........  18 

Presence 21 

Twilight  on  Sixth  Avenue 22 

The  Street  Lamps 24 

In  Darkness 25 

In  the  Solitude  of  the  City 26 

A  Nocturne  of  Exile 28 

A  Street  Vigil 30 

A  Nocturne  of  Trysting 32 

In  a  City  Room 34 

A  Nocturne  of  Consecration 36 


Contents 


OTHER   POEMS 

PACK 

An  Evening  Communion   .......  45 

Life  and  Art 48 

Beyond  the  Tops  of  Time 49 

Dream-Fellows 55 

The  Atlantic  Cable 61 

When  the  Clover  Blooms  Again 63 

At  Tide  Water 65 

The  Falling  Leaves 67 

Marjory 68 

The  Solitary  Woodsman 72 

The  Stirrup  Cup 77 

Ice 78 

The  Hermit 79 

"  O  Thou  who  bidd'st " 82 

Ascription 83 


New  York  Nocturnes 

*Sl  6€o(,  t(s  apa  Kvirpis,  t]  tCs  t^jicpos,  tovSc  IvvVjifraro ; 


New  York  Nocturnes 


In  the  Crowd 

I  walk  the  city  square  with  thee. 

The  night  is  loud;    the  pavements  roar. 
Their  eddying  mirth  and  misery 
Encircle  thee  and  me. 

The  street  is  full  of  lights  and  cries. 

The  crowd  but  brings  thee  close  to  me. 
I  only  hear  thy  low  replies; 
I  only  see  thine  eyes. 


Nis^ht  in  a  Down-town  Street 


't> 


Not  in  the  eyed,  expectant  gloom, 

Where  soaring  peaks  repose 
And  incommunicable  space 

Companions  with  the  snows; 

Not  in  the  glimmering  dusk  that  crawls 

Upon  the  clouded  sea, 
Where  bourneless  wave  on  bourneless  wave 

Complains  continually; 


I 


xo 


Night  in  a  Down-towji  Street 

Not  in  the  palpable  dark  of  woods 
Where  groping  hands  clutch  fear, 

Does  Night  her  deeps  of  solitude 
Reveal  unveiled  as  here. 

The  street  is  a  grim  canon  carved 

In  the  eternal  stone, 
That  knows  no  more  the  rushing  stream 

It  anciently  has  known. 

The  emptying  tide  of  life  has  drained 

The  iron  channel  dry. 
Strange  winds  from  the  forgotten  day 

Draw  down,  and  dream,  and  sigh. 


II 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

The  narrow  heaven,  the  desolate  moon 
Made  wan  with  endless  years, 

Seem  less  immeasurably  remote 
Than  laughter,   love,  or  tears. 


12 


At  the  Railway  Station 

Here  the  night  is  fierce  with  light, 
Here  the  great  wheels  come  and  go, 

Here  are  partings,  waitings,   meetings. 
Mysteries  of  joy  and  woe. 

Here  is  endless  haste  and  change. 
Here  the  ache  of  streaming  eyes, 

Radiance  of  expectant  faces. 
Breathless  askings,  brief  replies. 


13 


Nezv   York  Nocturnes  and  other  Poems 

Here  the  jarred,  tumultuous  air 
Throbs  and  pauses  like  a  bell, 

Gladdens  with  delight  of  greeting, 
Sighs  and  sorrows  with  farewell. 

Here,  ah,  here  with  hungry  eyes 
I  explore  the  passing  throng. 

Restless  I  await  your  coming 
Whose  least  absence  is  so  long. 

Faces,  faces  pass  me  by, 

Meaningless,  and  blank,  and  dumb. 
Till  my  heart  grows  faint  and  sickens 

Lest  at  last  you  should  not  come. 


14 


At  the  Railway  Station 

Then  —  I  see  you.     And  the  blood 
Surges  back  to  heart  and  brain. 

Eyes  meet  mine, —  and  Heaven  opens. 
You  are  at  my  side  again. 


IS 


Nocturnes  of  the  Honeysuckle 


Forever  shed  your  sweetness  on  the  night, 
Dear  honeysuckle,  flower  of  our  delight! 

Forever  breathe  the  mystery  of  that  hour 
When    her    hand    touched    me,    lightlier    than    a 
flower, — 

And  life  became  forever  strange  and  sweet, 
A  gift  to  lay  with  worship  at  her  feet. 


i6 


Nocturnes  of  the  Honeysuckle 


II 

Oh,  flower  of  the  honeysuckle, 

Tell  me  how  often  the  long  night  through 
She  turns  in  her  dream  to  the  open  window, 

She  turns  in  her  dream  to  you. 

Oh,  flower  of  the  honeysuckle, 

Tell  me  how  tenderly  out  of  the  dew 

You  breathe  her  a  dream  of  that  night  of  wonder 
When  life  was  fashioned  anew. 

Oh,  flower  of  the  honeysuckle. 

Tell  me  how  long  ere,  the  sweet  night  through, 
She  will  turn  not  to  you  but  to  me  in  the  darkness, 

And  dream  and  desire  come  true. 


17 


My  Garden 

I  have  a  garden  in  the  city's  grime 

Where  secretly  my  heart  keeps  summer  timej 

Where  blow  such  airs  of  rapture  on  my  eyes 
As  those  blest  dreamers  know  in  Paradise, 

Who  after  lives  of  longing  come  at  last 
Where  anguish  of  vain  love  is  overpast. 

When  the  broad  noon  lies  shadeless  on  the  street, 
And  traffic  roars,  and  toilers  faint  with  heat, 

Where  men  forget  that  ever  woods  were  green, 
The  wonders  of  my  garden  are  not  seen. 


i8 


My  Garden 

Only  at  night  the  magic  doors  disclose 
Its  labyrinths  of  lavender  and  rose; 

And  honeysuckle,  white  beneath  its  moon, 
Whispers  me  softly  thou  art  coming  soon; 

And  led  by  Love's  white  hand  upon  my  wrist 
Beside  its  glimmering  fountains  I  keep  tryst. 

O  Love,  this  moving  fragrance  on  my  hair,  — 
Is  it  thy  breath,  or  some  enchanted  air 

From  far,  uncharted  realms  of  mystery 

Which  I  have  dreamed  of  but  shall  never  see? 

O  Love,  this  low,  wild  music  in  my  ears. 
Is  it  the  heart-beat  of  thy  hopes  and  fears, 


19 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poejns 

Or  the  faint  cadence  of  some  fairy  song 
On  winds  of  boyhood  memory  blown  along? 

O  Love,  what  poignant  ecstasy  is  this 

Upon  my  lips  and  eyes?     Thy  touch, — thy  kiss. 


20 


Presence 

Dawn  like  a  lily  lies  upon  the  land 
Since  I  have  known  the  whiteness  of  your  hand. 
Dusk  is  more  soft  and  more  mysterious  where 
Breathes  on  my  eyes  the  perfume  of  your  hair. 
Waves  at  your  coming  break  in  livelier  blue; 
And  solemn  woods  are  glad  because  of  you. 
Brooks  of  your  laughter  learn  their  liquid  notes. 
Birds  to  your  voice  attune  their  pleading  throats. 
Fields  to  your  feet  grow  smoother  and  more  green; 
And  happy  blossoms  tell  where  you  have  been. 


21 


Twilight  on  Sixth  Avenue 

Over  the  tops  of  the  houses 

Twilight  and  sunset  meet. 
The  green,  diaphanous  dusk 

Sinks  to  the  eager  street. 

Astray  in  the  tangle  of  roofs 

Wanders  a  wind  of  June. 
The  dial  shines  in  the  clock-tower 

Like  the  face  of  a  strange-scrawled  moon. 


22 


Twilight  on  Sixth  Avenue 


The  narrowing  lines  of  the  houses 

Palely  begin  to  gleam, 
And  the  hurrying  crowds  fade  softly 

Like  an  army  in  a  dream. 

Above  the  vanishing  faces 

A  phantom  train  flares  on 
With  a  voice  that  shakes  the  shadows,— 

Diminishes,  and  is  gone. 

And  I  walk  with  the  journeying  throng 

In  such  a  solitude 
As  where  a  lonely  ocean 

Washes  a  lonely  wood. 


23 


The  Street  Lamps 

Eyes  of  the  city, 
Keeping  your  sleepless  watch  from  sun  to  sun, 

Is  it  for  pity 
You  tremble,  seeing  innocence  undone; 

Or  do  you  laugh,  to  think  men  thus  should  set 
Spies  on  the  folly  day  would  fain  forget? 


24 


In  Darkness 

I  have  faced  life  with  courage, —  but  not  now! 

O  Infinite,   in  this  darkness  draw  thou  near. 
Wisdom  alone  I  asked  of  thee,  but  thou 

Hast  crushed  me  with  the  awful  gift  of  fear. 


25 


In  the  Solitude  of  the  City 

Night;   and  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  street. 
Night;   and  the  happy  laughter  where  they  meet, 

The  glad  boy  lover  and  the  trysting  girl. 
But  thou  —  but  thou  —  I  cannot  find  thee,  Sweet ! 

Night;    and  far  off  the  lighted  pavements  roar. 
Night;   and  the  dark  of  sorrow  keeps  my  door. 
I  reach  my  hand  out  trembling  in  the  dark. 
Thy  hand  comes  not  with  comfort  any  more. 


26 


In  tJie  Solitude  of  the  City 

O  Silent,  Unresponding !     If  these  fears 
Lie  not,  nor  other  wisdom  come  with  years, 
No  day  shall  dawn  for  me  without  regret, 
No  night  go  uncompanioned  by  my  tears. 


27 


A  Nocturne  of  Exile 

Out  of  this  night  of  lonely  noise, 

The  city's  crowded  cries, 
Home  of  my  heart,  to  thee,  to  thee 

I  turn  my  longing  eyes. 

Years,  years,  how  many  years  I  went 

In  exile  wearily. 
Before  I  lifted  up  my  face 

And  saw  my  home  in  thee. 


28 


A  Nocturne  of  Exile 

I  had  come  home  to  thee  at  last. 

I  saw  thy  warm  lights  gleam. 
I  entered  thine  abiding  joy, — 

Oh,  was  it  but  a  dream? 

Ere  I  could  reckon  with  my  heart 

The  sum  of  our  delight, 
I  was  an  exile  once  again 

Here  in  the  hasting  night. 

Thy  doors  were  shut;    thy  lights  were  gone 
From  my  remembering  eyes.  — 

Only  the  city's  endless  throng! 
Only  the  crowded  cries! 


29 


A  Street  Vigil 

Here  is  the  street 

Made  holy  by  the  passing  of  her  feet, — 

The  little,  tender  feet,  more  sweet  than  myrrh, 
Which  I  have  washed  with  tears  for  love  of  her. 

Here  she  has  gone 

Until  the  very  stones  have  taken  on 

A  glory  from  her  passing,  and  the  place 
Is  tremulous  with  memory  of  her  face. 


30 


A   Street   Vigil 

Here  is  the  room 

That  holds  the  light  to  lighten  all  my  gloom. 
Beyond  that  blank  white  window  she  is  sleeping 
Who  hath  my  hope,  my  health,  my  fame,  in  keep- 
ing. 

A  little  peace 

Here  for  a  little,  ere  my  vigil  cease 

And  I  turn  homeward,  shaken  with  the  strife 
Of  hope  that  struggles  hopeless,  sick  for  life. 

Surely  the  power 

That  lifted  me  from  darkness  that  one  hour 
To  a  dear  heaven  whereof  no  word  can  tell 
Not  wantonly  will  thrust  me  back  to  hell. 


31 


A  Nocturne  of  Trysting 

Broods  the  hid  glory  in  its  sheath  of  gloom 

Till    strikes    the     destined    hour,    and    bursts    the 

bloom, 
A  rapture  of  white  passion  and  perfume. 

So  the  long  day  is  like  a  bud 

That  aches  with  coming  bliss. 
Till  flowers  in  light  the  wondrous  night 

That  brings  me  to  thy  kiss. 


32 


A  Noctuvjie  of  Trysting 

Then,    with   a   thousand   sorrows   forgotten    in   one 
hour, 
In  thy  pure  eyes  and  at  thy  feet  I  find  at  last 
my  goal; 
And  life  and  hope  and  joy  seem  but  a  faint  pre- 
vision 
Of   the   flower   that   is   thy  body  and    the   flame 
that  is  thy  soul. 


33 


In  a  City  Room 

O  city  night  of  noises  and  alarms, 

Your    lights    may    flare,    your    cables    clang   and 
rush, 
But  in  the  sanctuary  of  my  love's  arms 

Your  blinding  tumult  dies  into  a  hush. 

My  doors  are  surged  about  with  your  unrest; 

Your  plangent  cares  assail  my  realm  of  peace; 
But  when  I  come  unto  her  quiet  breast 

How  suddenly  your  jar  and  clamor  cease! 


34 


In  a  City  Room 

Then  even  remembrance  of  your  strifes  and  pains 
Diminishes  to  a  ghost  of  sorrows  gone, 

Remoter  than  a  dream  of  last  year's  rains 
Gusty  against  my  window  in  the  dawn. 


35 


A  Nocturne  of  Consecration 

I  talked  about  you,  Dear,  the  other  night, 
Having  myself  alone  with  my  delight. 
Alone  with  dreams  and  memories  of  you. 
All  the  divine-houred  summer  stillness  through 
I  talked  of  life,  of  love  the  always  new. 
Of  tears,  and  joy, —  yet  only  talked  of  you. 

To  the  sweet  air 

That  breathed  upon  my  face 

The  spirit  of  lilies  in  a  leafy  place, 

Your  breath's  caress,  the  lingering  of  your  hair, 

I  said  — "  In  all  your  wandering  through  the  dusk. 


36 


A  Nocturne  of  Consecration 

Your  waitings  on  the  marriages  of  flowers 
Through  the  long,  intimate  hours 
When  soul  and  sense,  desire  and  love  confer, 
You  must  have  known  the  best  that  God  has  made. 
What  do  you  know  of  Her?" 

Said  the  sweet  air  — 

"Since  I  have  touched  her  lips. 

Bringing  the  consecration  of  her  kiss, 

Half  passion  and  half  prayer, 

And  all  for  you. 

My  various  lore  has  suffered  an  eclipse. 

I  have  forgot  all  else  of  sweet  I  knew." 

To  the  wise  earth, 

Kind,  and  companionable,  and  dewy  cool, 


37 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

Fair  beyond  words  to  tell,  as  you  are  fair, 

And  cunning  past  compare 

To  leash  all  heaven  in  a  windless  pool, 

I  said  —  "The  mysteries  of  death  and  birth 

Are  in  your  care. 

You  love,  and  sleep;   you  drain  life  to  the  lees; 

And  wonderful  things  you  know. 

Angels  have  visited  you,  and  at  your  knees 

Learned  what  I  learn  forever  at  her  eyes. 

The  pain  that  still  enhances  Paradise. 

You  in  your  breast  felt  her  first  pulses  stir; 

And  you  have   thrilled  to  the  light  touch  of   her 

feet, 
Blindingly  sweet. 
Now  make  me  wise  with  some  new  word  of  Her." 


38 


A  Nocturne  of  Consecratioft 

Said  the  wise  earth  — 

"She  is  not  all  my  child. 

But  the  wild  spirit  that  rules  her  heart-beats  wild 

Is  of  diviner  birth 

And  kin  to  the  unknown  light  beyond  my  ken. 

All  I  can  give  to  Her  have  I  not  given? 

Strength  to  be  glad,  to  suffer,  and  to  know; 

The  sorcery  that  subdues  the  souls  of  men; 

The  beauty  that  is  as  the  shadow  of  heaven; 

The  hunger  of  love 

And  unspeakable  joy  thereof. 

And  these  are  dear  *o  Her  because  of  you. 

You  need  no  word  of  mine  to  make  you  wise 

Who  worship  at  her  eyes 

And  find  there  life  and  love  forever  new ! " 


39 


New   York  Nocturnes  attd  Other  Poems 

To  the  white  stars, 

Eternal  and  all-seeing, 

In  their  wide  home  beyond  the  wells  of  being, 

I  said  —  "There  is  a  little  cloud  that  mars 

The  mystical  perfection  of  her  kiss. 

Mine,  mine,  She  is, 

As  far  as  lip  to  lip,  and  heart  to  heart. 

And  spirit  to  spirit  when  lips  and  hands  must  part. 

Can   make    her    mine.     But    there    is    more    than 

this, — 
More,  more  of  Her  to  know. 
For  still  her  soul  escapes  me  unaware. 
To  dwell  in  secret  where  I  may  not  go. 
Take,  and  uplift  me.     Make  me  wholly  Hers." 


40 


A  Nocturne  of  Consecration 

Said  the  white  stars,  the  heavenly  ministers, — 

"This  life  is  brief,  but  it  is  only  one. 

Before  to-morrow's  sun 

For  one  or  both  of  you  it  may  be  done. 

This  love  of  yours  is  only  just  begun. 

Will  all  the  ecstasy  that  may  be  won 

Before  this  life  its  little  course  has  run 

At  all  suffice 

The  love  that  agonizes  in  your  eyes? 

Therefore  be  wise. 

Content  you  with  the  wonder  of  love  that  lies 

Between  her  lips  and  underneath  her  eyes. 

If  more  you  should  surprise, 

What  would  be  left  to  hope  from  Paradise? 


41 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

In  other  worlds  expect  another  joy 

Of  Her,  which  blundering  fate  shall  not  annoy, 

Nor  time  nor  change  destroy." 

So,   Dear,   I  talked  the  long,  divine  night  through, 
And  felt  you  in  the  chrismal  balms  of  dew. 
The  thing  then  learned 
Has  ever  since  within  my  bosom  burned  — 
One  life  is  not  enough  for  love  of  you. 


42 


Other   Poems 


An  Evening  Communion 

The  large  first  stars  come  out 

Above  the  open  hill, 
And  in  the  west  the  light 

Is  lingering  still. 

The  wide  and  tranquil  air 
Of  evening  washes  cool 

On  open  hill,  and  vale, 
And  shining  pool. 


45 


New  York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poejns 

The  calm  of  endless  time 

Is  in  the  spacious  hour, 
Whose  mystery  unfolds 

To  perfect  flower. 

The  silence  and  my  heart 
Expect  a  voice  I  know, — 

A  voice  we  have  not  heard 
Since  long  ago. 

Since  long  ago  thy  face. 
Thy  smile,  I  may  not  see. 

True  comrade,  whom  the  veil 
Divides  from  me. 


46 


An  Evening  Communion 

But  when  earth's  hidden  word 

I  almost  understand, 
I  dream  that  on  my  lips 

I  feel  thy  hand. 

Thy  presence  is  the  light 

Upon  the  open  hill. 
Thou  walkest  with  me  here, 

True  comrade  still. 

My  pain  and  my  unrest 
Thou  tak'st  into  thy  care. 

The  world  becomes  a  dream, 
And  life  a  prayer. 


47 


Life  and  Art 

Said  Life  to  Art  — "I  love  thee  best 

Not  when  I  find  in  thee 
My  very  face  and  form,  expressed 

With  dull  fidelity, 

"But  when  in  thee  my  craving  eyes 

Behold  continually 
The  mystery  of  my  memories 

And  all  I  long  to  be." 


48 


Beyond  the  Tops  of  Time 

How  long  it  was  I  did  not  know, 
That  I  had  waited,  watched,  and  feared. 

It  seemed  a  thousand  years  ago 
The  last  pale  lights  had  disappeared. 

I  knew  the  place  was  a  narrow  room 

Up,  up  beyond  the  reach  of  doom. 

Then  came  a  light  more  red  than  flame;  — 
No  sun-dawn,  but  the  soul  laid  bare 

Of  earth  and  sky  and  sea  became 
A  presence  burning  everywhere; 

And  I  was  glad  my  narrow  room 

Was  high  above  the  reach  of  doom. 


49 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

Windows  there  were  in  either  wall, 
Deep  cleft,  and  set  with  radiant  glass, 

Wherethrough  I  watched  the  mountains  fall, 
The  ages  wither  up  and  pass. 

I  knew  their  doom  could  never  climb 

My  tower  beyond  the  tops  of  Time. 

A  sea  of  faces  then  I  saw, 

Of  men  who  had  been,  men  long  dead. 
Figured  with  dreams  of  joy  and  awe 

The  heavens  unrolled  in  lambent  red; 
While  far  below  the  faces  cried  — 
"  Give  us  the  dream  for  which  we  died ! " 


SO 


Beyond  the  Tops  of  Time 

Ever  the  woven  shapes  rolled  by 

Above  the  faces  hungering. 
With  quiet  and  incurious  eye 

I  noted  many  a  wondrous  thing, — 
Seas  of  clear  glass,  and  singing  streams, 
In  that  high  pageantry  of  dreams; 

Cities  of  sard  and  chrysoprase 
Where  choired  Hosannas  never  cease; 

Valhallas  of  celestial  frays, 

And  lotus-pools  of  endless  peace; 

But  still  the  faces  gaped  and  cried  — 

"Give  us  the  dream  for  which  we  died!" 


51 


Nezu   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

At  length  my  quiet  heart  was  stirred, 
Hearing  them  cry  so  long  in  vain. 

But  while  I  listened  for  a  word 
That  should  translate  them  from  their  pain, 

I  saw  that  here  and  there  a  face 

Shone,  and  was  lifted  from  its  place, 

And  flashed  into  the  moving  dome 

An  ecstasy  of  prismed  fire. 
And  then  said  I,  "A  soul  has  come 

To  the  deep  zenith  of  desire ! " 
But  still  I  wondered  if  it  knew 
The  dream  for  which  it  died  was  true. 


5* 


Beyond  the  Tops  of  Time 

I  wondered  —  who  shall  say  how  long? 

(One  heart-beat?  —  Thrice  ten  thousand  years?) 
Till  suddenly  there  was  no  throng 

Of  faces  to  arraign  the  spheres, — 
No  more  white  faces  there  to  cry 
To  those  great  pageants  of  the  sky. 

Then  quietly  I  grew  aware 

Of  one  who  came  with  eyes  of  bliss 

And  brow  of  calm  and  lips  of  prayer. 
Said  I  —  "How  wonderful  is  this! 

Where  are  the  faces  once  that  cried  — 

'Give  us  the  dream  for  which  we  died '  ?  " 


53 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

The  answer  fell  as  soft  as  sleep, — 
"I  am  of  those  who,  having  cried 

So  long  in  that  tumultuous  deep, 

Have  won  the  dream  for  which  we  died." 

And  then  said  I  —  "Which  dream  was  true? 

For  many  were  revealed  to  you!" 

He  answered  —  "  To  the  soul  made  wise 
All  true,  all  beautiful  they  seem. 

But  the  white  peace  that  fills  our  eyes 
Outdoes  desire,  outreaches  dream. 

For  we  are  come  unto  the  place 

Where  always  we  behold  God's  face!" 


54 


Dream-Fellows 

Behind  the  veil  that  men  call  sleep 
I  came  upon  a  golden  land. 

A  golden  light  was  in  the  leaves 
And  on  the  amethystine  strand. 

Amber  and  gold  and  emerald 

The  unimaginable  wood. 
And  in  a  joy  I  could  not  name 

Beside  the  emerald  stream  I  stood. 


55 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

Down  from  a  violet  hill  came  one 
Running  to  meet  me  on  the  shore. 

I  clasped  his  hand.     He  seemed  to  be 
One  I  had  long  been  waiting  for. 

All  the  sweet  sounds  I  ever  heard 
In  his  low  greeting  seemed  to  blend. 

His  were  the  eyes  of  my  true  love. 
His  was  the  mouth  of  my  true  friend. 

We  spoke;  and  the  transfigured  words 
Meant  more  than  words  had  ever  meant. 

Our  lips  at  last  forgot  to  speak, 
For  silence  was  so  eloquent. 


56 


Dream-Fellows 

We  floated  in  the  emerald  stream; 

We  wandered  in  the  wondrous  wood. 
His  soul  to  me  was  clear  as  light. 

My  inmost  thought  he  understood. 

Only  to  be  was  to  be  glad. 

Life,  like  a  rainbow,  filled  our  eyes. 
In  comprehending  comradeship 

Each  moment  seemed  a  Paradise. 

And  often,  in  the  after  years, 
I  and  my  dream-fellow  were  one 

For  hours  together  in  that  land 
Behind  the  moon,  beyond  the  sun. 


S7 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

At  last,  in  the  tumultuous  dream 
That  men  call  life,  I  chanced  to  be 

One  day  amid  the  city  throng 

Where  the  great  piers  oppose  the  sea. 

A  giant  ship  was  swinging  off 
For  other  seas  and  other  skies. 

Amid  the  voyaging  companies 
I  saw  his  face,  I  saw  his  eyes. 

Oh,  passionately  through  the  crowd 
I  thrust,  and  then  —  our  glances  met! 

Across  the  widening  gulf  we  gazed. 

With  white  set  lips,  and  eyes  grown  wet. 


58 


Dream-Fellows 

And  all  day  long  my  heart  was  faint 
With  parting  pangs  and  tears  unwept; 

Till  night  brought  comfort,   for  he  came 
To  meet  me,  smiling,  when  I  slept. 

Beyond  the  veil  that  men  call  sleep 
We  met,  within  that  golden  land. 

He  said  —  or  I  —  "  We  grieved  to-day. 
But  now,  more  wise,  we  understand! 

"Communing  in  the  common  world. 
The  flesh,  for  us,  would  be  a  bar. 

Strange  would  be  our  familiar  speech; 
And  earth  would  seem  no  more  a  star. 


59 


New   Vori'  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

"We'd  know  no  more  the  golden  leaves 

Beside  the  amethystine  deep; 
We'd  see  no  more  each  other's  thought 

Behind  the  veil  that  men  call  sleep ! " 


60 


The  Atlantic  Cable 

This  giant  nerve,  at  whose  command 
The  world's  great  pulses  throb  or  sleep,- 

It  threads  the  undiscerned  repose 
Of  the  dark  bases  of  the  deep. 

Around  it  settle  in  the  calm 

Fine  tissues  that  a  breath  might  mar, 
Nor  dream  what  fiery  tidings  pass, 

What  messages  of  storm  and  war. 


6i 


New   York  Nocturnes  mid  Other  Poems 

Far  over  it,  where  filtered  gleams 
Faintly  illume  the  mid-sea  day, 

Strange,   pallid  forms  of  fish  or  weed 
In  the  obscure  tide  softly  sway. 

And  higher,   where  the  vagrant  waves 
Frequent  the  white,  indifferent  sun, 

Where  ride  the  smoke-blue  hordes  of  rain 
And  the  long  vapors  lift  and  run, 

Passes  perhaps  some  lonely  ship 

With  exile  hearts  that  homeward  ache, — 
While  far  beneath  is  flashed  a  word 

That  soon  shall  bid  them  bleed  or  break. 


62 


When  the  Clover  blooms  again 

"When  the  clover  blooms  again, 
And  the  rain-birds  in  the  rain 

Make  the  sad-heart  noon  seem  sweeter 

And  the  joy  of  June  completer 
I  shall  see  his  face  again ! " 

Of  her  lover  over  sea 

So  she  whispered  happily; 

And  she  prayed,  while  men  were  sleeping, 
"Mary,  have  him  in  thy  keeping 

As  he  sails  the  stormy  sea ! " 


63 


New  York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

White  and  silent  lay  his  face 
In  a  still,  green-watered  place, 

Where  the  long,  gray  weed  scarce  lifted, 

And  the  sand  was  lightly  sifted 
O'er  his  unremembering  face. 


64 


At  Tide  Water 

The  red  and  yellow  of  the  Autumn  salt-grass, 

The  gray  flats,  and  the  yellow-gray  full  tide, 
The  lonely  stacks,  the  grave  expanse  of  marshes, — 

O  Land  wherein  my  memories  abide, 
I  have  come  back  that  you  may  make  me  tranquil, 

Resting  a  little  at  your  heart  of  peace. 
Remembering  much  amid  your  serious  leisure. 

Forgetting  more  amid  your  large  release. 
For  yours  the  wisdom  of  the  night  and  morning, 

The  word  of  the  inevitable  years. 
The  open  Heaven's  unobscured  communion. 

And  the  dim  whisper  of  the  wheeling  spheres. 


65 


New   York  Nocturnes  afid  Other  Poems 

The  great  things  and  the  terrible  I  bring  you, 

To  be  illumined  in  your  spacious  breath, — 
Love,  and  the  ashes  of  desire,  and  anguish. 

Strange    laughter,    and  the   unhealing  wound  of 
death. 
These  in  the  world,  all  these,  have  come  upon  me, 

Leaving  me  mute  and  shaken  with  surprise. 
Oh,  turn  them  in  your  measureless  contemplation, 

And  in  their  mastery  teach  me  to  be  wise. 


66 


The  Falling  Leaves 

Lightly  He  blows,  and  at  His  breath  they  fall, 

The  perishing  kindreds  of  the  leaves;  they  drift, 
Spent  flames  of  scarlet,  gold  aerial. 

Across  the  hollow  year,  noiseless  and  swift. 
Lightly  He  blows,  and  countless  as  the  falling 

Of  snow  by  night  upon  a  solemn  sea, 
The  ages  circle  down  beyond  recalling, 

To  strew  the  hollows  of  Eternity. 
He  sees  them  drifting  through  the  spaces  dim, 

And  leaves  and  ages  are  as  one  to  Him. 


67 


Marjory 

(A  Backwoods  Ballad) 

Spring,   summer,   autumn,  winter. 
Over  the  wild  world  rolls  the  year. 

Comes  June  to  the  rose-red  tamarack  buds. 
But  Marjory  comes  not  here. 

The  pastures  miss  her;   the  house  without  her 
Grows  forgotten,  and  gray,  and  old; 

The  wind,  and  the  lonely  light  of  the  sun, 
Are  heavy  with  tears  untold. 


68 


Marjory 

Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter. 

Morning,  evening,  over  and  o'er! 
The  swallow  returns  to  the  nested  rafter, 

But  Marjory  comes  no  more. 

The  gray  barn-doors  in  the  long  wind  rattle 
Hour  by  hour  of  the  long  white  day. 

The  horses  fret  by  the  well-filled  manger 
Since  Marjory  went  away. 

The  sheep  she  fed  at  the  bars  await  her. 

The  milch  cows  low  for  her  down  the  lane. 
They  long  for  her  light,   light  hand  at  the  milk- 
ing,— 

They  long  for  her  hand  in  vain. 


69 


Netv   York  Nocturnes  ajid  Other  Poems 

Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter, 

Morning  and  evening,  over  and  o'er! 

The  bees  come  back  with  the  willow  catkins, 
But  Marjory  comes  no  more. 

The  voice  of  the  far-off  city  called  to  her. 

Was  it  long  years  or  an  hour  ago? 
She  went  away,  with  dear  eyes  weeping, 

To  a  world  she  did  not  know. 

The  berried  pastures  they  could  not  keep  her. 
The  brook,  nor  the  buttercup-golden  hill, 

Nor  even  the  long,  long  love  familiar, — 
The  strange  voice  called  her  still. 


70 


Marjory 

She  would  not  stay  for  the  old  home  garden; 

The  scarlet  poppy,  the  mignonette, 
The  fox-glove  bell,  and  the  kind-eyed  pansy, 

Their  hearts  will  not  forget. 

Oh,  that  her  feet  had  not  forgotten 
The  woodland  country,  the  homeward  way! 

Oh,  to  look  out  of  the  sad,  bright  window 
And  see  her  come  back,  some  day! 

Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter. 
Over  the  wild  world  rolls  the  year. 

Comes  joy  to  the  bird  on  the  nested  rafter; 
But  Marjory  comes  not  here. 


7« 


The  Solitary  Woodsman 

When  the  gray  lake-water  rushes 
Past  the  dripping  alder  bushes, 

And  the  bodeful  autumn  wind 
In  the  fir-tree  weeps  and  hushes, — 

When  the  air  is  sharply  damp 
Round  the  solitary  camp, 

And  the  moose-bush  in  the  thicket 
Glimmers  like  a  scarlet  lamp, — 


72 


The  Solitary   Woodsman 

When  the  birches  twinkle  yellow, 
And  the  cornel  bunches  mellow, 

And  the  owl  across  the  twilight 
Trumpets  to  his  downy  fellow, — 

When  the  nut-fed  chipmunks  romp 
Through  the  maples'  crimson  pomp, 

And  the  slim  viburnum  flushes 
In  the  darkness  of  the  swamp, — 

When  the  blueberries  are  dead. 
When  the  rowan  clusters  red, 

And  the  shy  bear,  summer-sleekened, 
In  the  bracken  makes  his  bed, — 


73 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

On  a  day  there  comes  once  more 
To  the  latched  and  lonely  door, 

Down  the  wood-road  striding  silent, 
One  who  has  been  here  before. 

Green  spruce  branches  for  his  head, 
Here  he  makes  his  simple  bed. 

Couching  with  the  sun,  and  rising 
When  the  dawn  is  frosty  red. 

All  day  long  he  wanders  wide 
With  the  gray  moss  for  his  guide. 

And  his  lonely  axe-stroke  startles 
The  expectant  forest-side. 


?♦ 


The  Solitary   Woodsman 

Toward  the  quiet  close  of  day 
Back  to  camp  he  takes  his  way, 
And  about  his  sober  footsteps 
Unafraid   the  squirrels  play. 

On  his  roof  the  red  leaf  falls, 
At  his  door  the  blue-jay  calls. 

And  he  hears  the  wood-mice  hurry 
Up  and  down  his  rough  log  walls; 

Hears  the  laughter  of  the  loon 
Thrill  the  dying  afternoon, — 

Hears  the  calling  of  the  moose 
Echo  to  the  early  moon. 


75 


New   York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

And  he  hears  the  partridge  drumming, 
The  belated  hornet  humming, — • 

All  the  faint,  prophetic  sounds 
That  foretell  the  winter's  coming. 

And  the  wind  about  his  eaves 
Through  the  chilly  night-wet  grieves, 

And  the  earth's  dumb  patience  fills  him, 
Fellow  to  the  falling  leaves. 


76 


The  Stirrup  Cup 

Life  at  my  stirrup  lifted  wistful  eyes, 

And  as  she  gave  the  parting  cup  to  me, — 
Death's  pale  companion  for  the  silent  sea, — 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "that  land  and  where  it  lies. 
A  pledge  between  us  now  before  you  go. 
That  when  you  meet  me   there  your  soul  may 
know!" 


77 


Ice 


\Vhen  Winter  scourged  the  meadow  and  the  hill 
And  in  the  withered  leafage  worked  his  will, 
The  water  shrank,  and  shuddered,  and  stood  still, - 
Then  built  himself  a  magic  house  of  glass, 
Irised  with  memories  of  flowers  and  grass, 
Wherein  to  sit  and  watch  the  fury  pass. 


'^ 


The  Hermit 

Above  the  blindness  of  content, 

The  ignorance  of  ease, 
Inhabiting  within  his  soul 

A  shrine  of  memories, 

Between  the  silences  of  sleep 

Attentively  he  hears 
The  endless  crawling  sob  and  strain, 

The  spending  of  the  years. 


.79 


New  York  Nocttirnes  and  Other  Poems 

He  sees  the  lapsing  stream  go  by 

His  unperturbed  face, 
Out  of  a  dark,   into  a  dark, 

Across  a  lighted  space. 

He  calls  it  Life,  this  lighted  space 

Upon  the  moving  flood. 
He  sees  the  water  white  with  tears. 

He  sees  it  red  with  blood. 

And  many  specks  upon  the  tide 
He  sees  and  marks  by  name, — 

Motes  of  a  day,  and  fools  of  Fate, 
And  challengers  of  fame; 


80 


The  Hermit 

With  here  a  people,  there  a  babe, 
A  blossom,  or  a  crown, — 

They  whirl  a  little,  gleam,  and  pass, 
Or  in  the  eddies  drown. 

He  waits.     He  waits  one  day  to  see 
The  lapsing  of  the  stream. 

The  eddying  forms,  the  darknesses, 
Dissolve  into  a  dream. 


8i 


"  O  Thou  who  bidd'st " 

O  Thou  who  bidd'st  a  million  germs  decay 
That  one  white  bloom  may  soar  into  the  day, 
Mine  eyes  unseal  to  see  their  souls  in  death 
Borne  back  to  Thee  upon  the  lily's  breath. 


83 


Ascription 

O  Thou  who  hast  beneath  Thy  hand 
The  dark  foundations  of  the  land, — 
The  motion  of  whose  ordered  thought 
An  instant  universe  hath  wrought, — 

Who  hast  within  Thine  equal  heed 
The  rolling  sun,  the  ripening  seed, 
The  azure  of  the  speedwell's  eye. 
The  vast  solemnities  of  sky, — 


New  York  Nocturnes  and  Other  Poems 

Who  hear' St  no  less  the  feeble  note 
Of  one  small  bird's  awakening  throat, 
Than  that  unnamed,  tremendous  chord 
Arcturus  sounds  before  his  Lord, — 

More  sweet  to  Thee  than  all  acclaim 
Of  storm  and  ocean,  stars  and  flame, 
In  favour  more  before  Thy  face 
Than  pageantry  of  time  and  space, 

The  worship  and  the  service  be 
Of  him  Thou  madest  most  like  Thee,— 
Who  in  his  nostrils  hath  Thy  breath, 
Whose  spirit  is  the  lord  of  death! 


84 


Set  up  by  J.  S.  Cusbing  Sf  Co.,  and  printed  by 
Berwick  fif  Smith,  at  the  Nor-wood  Press,  for 
the  publishers,  Lamson,  IVolffe  &  Co.,  in  the  year 
Eighteen  Hundred  and  Ninety-eight.      *       *       * 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

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